


Rearrange

by pxncey



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Childhood Trauma, Drug Withdrawal, Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Vomiting, dumbassery, heavy subject matter but lighthearted all things considered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29159865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxncey/pseuds/pxncey
Summary: Philip was kinda in pieces. As he rearranged the little bits of himself to form some semblance of a life, everything began to centre around Ray.
Relationships: Ray Green/Philip Pearson | Traveler 3326
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Mutual Aid

**Author's Note:**

> Idek if anyone will read this fic at all, but I don’t care, cos it came from my heart! :•)
> 
> Warnings: addiction to needle drugs, gnarly drug withdrawal, referenced child abuse, general violence, compulsive sex. 
> 
> There’s heavy subject material here, but all things considered, it’s actually a pretty lighthearted fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Philip needs help dosing himself, Poppy the turtle has a tummy ache, and Ray gets beaten to a pulp.

Philip was going to die.

Okay, not really. But he sure as fuck felt like it. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than what he was feeling right now. His body was overcome by shivers and profuse sweating, and his bones ached. Yeah, his actual  _bones_. He couldn’t count how many times he had blacked out. He was lying in bed, inert, but his vision was so blurry that he might as well have been twirling in circles.

Withdrawal seemed to get worse every time he experienced it. He hadn’t meant to get into this state, he’d been trying to avoid this, but when he had tried to dose himself, his hands had trembled so hard that he couldn’t manage it. The lighter was too difficult to flick on, the needle shook in his hands, and he couldn’t see straight, anyway.

This was not good. Marcy had told him to dose every twelve hours, and by this point, he was four hours overdue. He needed help, but there was no one to ask. The team were all absent, out on a vital mission that Marcy had forcibly excused him from. In theory, he supposed that he could try to wait a few more hours until they returned. In practice, though, he would probably rather die than go without another dose for that long.

With a pained groan, Philip dragged himself into a sitting position, and shuffled to the edge of the bed, ignoring the inconsiderate way in which the room was swaying. There was a patch of sweat where he had been lying. He swung his legs off the mattress, and leaned forwards so that he could peer into Poppy’s tank. She was blurry, but there she was, sitting in the very centre of the tank, observing a pile of leaves. “Poppy,” he said to her, “Help me.”

Poppy plodded several steps to her left, and began munching on a leaf.

“Thanks,” Philip rasped. Although he was eternally grateful for Poppy’s comforting presence, there was only so much a turtle could do to help heroin withdrawal. He needed a person, really. He grasped blindly at the bedside table until he found his phone, then let himself collapse backwards onto the pillows. Once settled, he blinked at the phone screen blearily. His hands were slippery with sweat as he tapped at the buttons, scrolling through his short list of contacts. None of them seemed an appropriate choice—Marcy’s boyfriend? Helen from AA? He couldn’t ask these people to give him heroin.

Then Phillip saw Ray’s name, and he dialled.

—

Any length of time could have passed when Philip woke up. He felt so disorientated, he didn’t know if it had been hours or seconds. When he blinked his eyes open, his vision was still spinning, and everything was blurry.

A clunking sound from nearby startled Philip. Was Marcy back? He could definitely hear footsteps now.

“Hey, Phil?” a voice called.

It was a man’s voice, so Philip intelligently deduced that it was not Marcy. He blinked several times, then he finally pieced things together. “Ray?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah?”

Thank God. Philip dragged himself upright in bed. “In here.”

“What’s up, man?” Ray asked as he wandered towards Philip’s room. “You said it was urgent. You sounded really fuckin’ weird, by the way.” There was a faint blur of movement when Ray appeared in Philip’s doorway. He caught sight of Philip, then came to an abrupt halt. “Whoa.”

Philip hummed in agreement. He wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he sure felt like hell, if that gave him any clue.

Ray took a few wary steps towards Philip, looking increasingly panicked. “You overdose or something?”

“No,” Philip rasped, a strained half-smile on his face. “The opposite.”

There was some trepidation in Ray’s expression. “What d’you need me for, then?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

At that, Ray folded his arms. “I don’t like a lot of things.”

“True.” Philip swiped the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. “I need you to dose me.”

Ray’s expression changed. He was clearly trying to mask how disturbed he felt at this prospect. “With heroin?”

Philip almost could have laughed. “What else?”

“You could need some aspirin. I don’t fucking know, do I?”

“I guess you don’t.” Philip did laugh now, but it was a strange sound, thick and damp.

Ray sat tentatively at the foot of the bed. He sounded calmer when he spoke again. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“I can’t stop shaking,” Philip said. “My hands don’t work. Besides, I’m afraid that if I let myself do it, I’ll go too far.”

Ray tilted his head. “Solid reasoning.”

“So you’ll do it?” Philip asked immediately.

Defensively, Ray raised both his hands. “I didn’t say that.”

“What do you want me to say, Ray? ‘Please’?”

Ray’s eyebrow twitched. “Give it a try.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Philip muttered. _“_ _Please_ ,  Ray? I feel like shit.”

Ray aimed a steely stare at Philip for several moments. Then he unfolded his arms. “Fine.”

—

Philip was going to live, and everything was going to be perfect, forever and ever. He felt alight with sensational relief, pleasure flooding every one of his nerves. Nothing could be wrong. Not when he felt like this.

He blinked a few times as his vision came back to him. Ray’s face hovered above him. “Thanks,” Philip slurred at Ray.

Ray had an expression on his face that Philip didn’t like. Ray looked uncomfortable, even unhappy. How could he be unhappy when everything was so perfect? Still grimacing, Ray stood up, and dropped the needle in the sharps container. “Anytime, kid,” he said, before leaving Philip alone.

—

It was a couple of weeks before Philip thought about calling Ray again. He had been doing fine with his doses, keeping them regular while still reducing them along Marcy’s schedule, and the need for money hadn’t arisen, so he hadn’t gambled. There had been no need to talk Ray.

Then Poppy got sick.

It probably wasn’t anything serious. But that didn’t stop Philip worrying himself to death. He questioned Marcy repeatedly, but she had very little to offer, insisting that she was only well versed in human biology, and that it wasn’t her duty to save turtles, anyway. Philip had hated her a tiny bit after that. Poppy wasn’t part of The Grand Plan, but she was still important.

Surely someone else cared for Poppy too, besides Philip. Philip did some thinking, and considered that Ray had been the one who helped acquire her. And that Ray knew plenty about the workings of the 21st century world, so maybe he would know about turtles, too.

Philip picked up the phone and dialled. After several rings, Ray picked up. “Hello?” Ray said.

“Ray,” Philip began, his tone grave. “I need you to help me with something. It’s important.”

“I’m not giving you heroin again,” Ray said immediately. “I know I said ‘anytime’, but I didn’t mean it.”

“What? No, it’s not that.” Philip scratched his nose. Suddenly he felt guilty, remembering the awful look on Ray’s face after dosing him. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“It was gnarly, you know. So what’s up?”

Philip sat down solemnly in his chair. “Poppy’s sick.”

There was a long pause. “The turtle?” Ray asked incredulously.

“Yeah. I’ve been really worried.”

“Well, what d’you want  _me_ to do?” Ray sounded slightly baffled.

Philip sighed. “Can you help her?”

“Phil, I think you’ve got me confused with some kind of turtle doctor,” Ray said. “I’m a lawyer. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Philip said, “But you helped me get her. Maybe you know something about how turtles work?”

Ray sighed. “Well, how do you know she’s even sick?”

“Because!” Philip said. “She’s not touching her tomatoes. She loves those.”

“Right,” Ray said skeptically.

“What if she’s dying, Ray?” Philip asked. His voice was filled with concern.

“She’s not dying,” Ray said. “She missed one meal.”

“Poppy never misses tomato day!” Philip defended. “And she missed one and a  _half_ meals. Snack time counts, you know.”

“Jeez, okay. If I come over, will you stop freaking out?”

“I’m not making any guarantees when it comes to my concern for Poppy.” Philip paused. “But maybe.”

—

As it turned out, Poppy was fine, and Ray helped Philip relax about the whole thing. But Philip knew that he made the right choice in looking out for Poppy. What if she’d had turtle cancer? If that had been the case, his vigilance would have saved her.

Vigilance was usually one of Philip’s strong points. Usually, but not always. When three days later, Ray started knocking at the door of the garage, Philip was asleep. He did not wake up for some time.

It wasn’t his fault. He had been so tired since Marcy started tapering his dose lower and lower. So, technically, she was the one to blame. Philip was the one spending every other day dizzy and sweating. It was for this reason that he only heard Ray when his knocking escalated to yelling. “Philip, for Christ’s sake,” Ray shouted impatiently. “Are you gonna let me in or not?”

Philip stirred, and blinked his eyes open. His head hurt. Somewhere nearby, there was a noise, and Philip wanted to block it out and go back to sleep. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his forehead.

“Phil?” Ray yelled again, a strange edge to his voice.

Bewildered, Philip hauled himself out of bed. He shuffled towards the door, his body protesting with each step, and his irritation building. When he opened the door, he was prepared to start snapping at Ray. But there Ray was, and Philip wasn’t snapping at all. He was just staring.

Ray was a bloody mess. Someone had clearly roughed him up very thoroughly. Black eye, split lip, blood on his forehead and seeping through his shirt. Every part of him was in disarray. He was almost panting, arm rested at head height on the garage door. He looked like he was barely holding himself up.

“Shit, man,” Philip said.

“Yeah, I’m not so good,” Ray said, immediately before collapsing.

Philip quickly dropped to his knees to aid Ray. “Fuck,” he muttered, carefully lifting Ray’s head from the ground. Ray was conscious and relatively alert, but possibly concussed, and limp. When Philip leaned to look at his face, his eyes were a little glossed-over.

“Betcha wish you answered the door earlier now,” Ray said faintly from the floor.

“Bastard,” Philip half-laughed. He pulled Ray up into a sitting position, letting him brace himself against Philip’s body. Philip’s smile lasted only about a second. “What happened?” he asked Ray.

“Varghese,” Ray shrugged, then winced. “Overdue loan.”

A frustrated exhale left Philip’s mouth. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I gotta handle some shit by myself,” Ray insisted. “Come on, we should go inside.”

Philip grasped Ray by the shoulders and stilled him when he tried to pull himself up. “Stop it,” he said. “Can you actually get up, Ray?”

“Sure. Maybe.”

“Yeah, that’s a lie. We’re waiting,” Philip said firmly. “Just a couple minutes, okay?” A couple of minutes seemed like an eternity to leave Ray on the floor covered in blood, but at least he wasn’t alone. “Let me take a better look at your face.”

“What, this ugly thing?” Ray joked. It fell flat, and Philip did not laugh. “Sure,” Ray said stiltedly after a pause.

Philip took Ray’s face in his hands. Stubble was peppered from his chin to the height of his jaw, and it brushed against Philip’s hands, coarse in comparison to his bare skin. Philip gave each wound a glance, eventually lingering on the black eye. He touched it lightly with his thumb. “That hurt?”

Ray gave a hum. “Yeah.”

“It’ll keep getting worse if we don’t get some ice on it.” Philip dropped his hands.

“We’re finally allowed inside now, huh?” Ray teased, his sarcasm still fully intact despite the head injury.

“We sure are,” Philip said, and helped Ray to his feet.

Fifteen minutes later, Ray was seated on Philip’s bed with an ice pack held to his eye. Philip had carefully wiped the blood from his face with a washcloth, and fastened the wider of the cuts closed with sterile tape. Second-hand knowledge from Marcy was all he had needed to assess Ray for a concussion, and treat his most pressing injuries with haste. With each part of the examination, Philip started to feel more reassured about Ray’s condition.

At this point, Philip was rifling intently through Marcy’s first aid box, looking for a particular adhesive dressing. Halfway through, he felt compelled to pause to check on Ray, as he had been doing periodically for the fifteen minutes. He glanced across the room, observing Ray carefully from a distance. Ray caught him watching. “You’re looking better already,” Philip said. Then he cocked his head to the side. “Except that blossoming black eye, of course.”

“Thanks,” Ray said dryly. “Are we gonna deal with my shoulder yet?”

Philip continued sifting through the first aid box. “In a minute. Take off your shirt, in the meantime.”

A chuckle escaped Ray. “Buy a guy a drink first.”

Philip tutted. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure,” Ray muttered. With his free hand, he began unbuttoning his shirt. It was only a moment before he was putting the ice pack down on the bed so he could shrug his shirt off.

Finally, Philip located the dressing at the bottom of the kit. He held it up in triumph, then crossed the room so that he could sit down beside Ray. With the still-damp washcloth from before, Philip began dabbing at the bloody cut on Ray’s shoulder, being cautious not to irritate the wound any further. The amount of blood made it difficult to see how severe the cut was, which made it quite the surprise when the injury was only superficial once it was clean. “Huh,” Philip said.

“What?” asked Ray. “I didn’t get blood on your sheets, did I?”

Philip shook his head. “No, that’s no problem. These sheets have probably seen worse than that.”

“Oh?” Ray waggled his eyebrows.

That earned Ray a little shove in his uninjured shoulder. “Never mind.” Philip tilted his head to the side. “Your injury’s just a lot less bad than I thought it was.”

Ray glanced at Philip.

“That’s good, Ray,” Philip stated.

Nodding, Ray patted Philip on the back. “Thanks, man.”

“Well, I’m not done treating you, yet.” Philip dumped the washcloth on the table without a glance, then picked up the adhesive dressing and tore off the plastic. He braced a hand on Ray’s shoulder. His skin was warm. “Stay still.” Philip carefully pressed the large dressing onto the cut, then smoothed it over. He didn’t think to remove his hand from Ray’s skin until a few too many seconds had passed, and Ray was looking at him oddly. “All right, now I’m done,” Philip said quickly, snatching his hand back.

To Philip’s relief, Ray didn’t confront him about it. He hardly reacted at all, aside from a slight flicker behind his eyes of something Philip couldn’t place. “Now am I allowed to say ‘thanks’?” Ray teased.

“Yes, dickhead,” Philip said. He still wasn’t entirely accustomed to using curse words, but they seemed pretty within Ray’s scope of vocabulary, so he peppered a few into each conversation they had.

“Thank you,” Ray said, only a hint of jokiness in his tone. He peered down at the bandage on his shoulder, and prodded it gently.

Immediately, Philip reached out to stop him. “Hey, none of that,” he said to Ray, prying his hand away. “No fucking with the bandage, please.”

Ray shrugged, looking only mildly disappointed. “All right, man.” He turned away to reach for his shirt, and that’s when Philip noticed the scar.

“Where’d you get that?” Philip asked, nodding at the rectangular white mark on Ray’s chest. It looked like an old injury, but the scar was still highly conspicuous. Philip wondered how he was distracted enough to miss it before.

“What?” Ray asked.

“The scar.” Philip glanced pointedly at the mark.

Ray’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and he shook his head. “Nowhere.”

By now, Philip was a tiny bit concerned. He masked it with banter. “Come on,” he said, “‘Nowhere’? You’re a lawyer, man, surely you know that no one’s ever fallen for that.”

“They could have. You don’t know,” Ray defended. “Besides, Phil, not to be rude, but is it really any of your fucking business?”

Miffed, Philip gave Ray a look. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m only asking.”

Some of the hostility left Ray’s face, but he didn’t apologise. He didn’t say anything else at all. He simply pulled on his shirt, and buttoned it up in silence while Philip swept the bandage wrappings into the trash. When they were both finished with their tasks, Ray stood up.

“You can go,” Philip said. “Guessing you have places to be.”

“I always do,” Ray said, his voice lazily confident once more.

Philip gave a lame nod. He paused. “Thanks for coming to me.”

Suddenly, Ray looked caught out, like Philip’s sentiment had completely startled him. There was a little dent between his brows. “Why?”

Philip wasn’t sure how to respond. It didn’t seem appropriate to say something too heartfelt, considering the culture of toxic masculinity prevalent in this century. “‘Cause you’re my friend,” Philip said, hoping that he didn’t sound overly tender. “I want to help you out, stupid.” Yes, that was much more fitting.

“Thanks, I guess,” Ray said. There was a strange edge to his voice. He glanced at the door, as if he was waiting to leave, but he made no move to exit. His lip twitched, and he cast his gaze away from Philip. “My dad,” he said.

Philip stilled, a frown on his face. “What?” Maybe Ray did have a concussion.

Ray’s stance changed, just a little, and he locked eyes with Philip. “The scar,” he said. “My dad did it to me.”

Something sickly turned in Philip’s stomach. It was rage; something he didn’t experience particularly often. His hands thrummed with energy, itching for a gun or someone to punch. “Seriously?”

The emotion was carefully removed from Ray’s voice when he spoke again, as if he couldn’t tolerate talking about this unless he put himself at a distance from it. “He used to whack me with his belt when I made him mad.”

“Ray,” Philip said. “That’s fucked up.” Swearing felt thoroughly warranted in this situation.

“Yeah, well,” Ray shrugged. “It’s hardly the worst of what he did to me.”

Dread twisted harder in Philip’s stomach. He pressed his lips together, and prepared himself to ask what he didn’t want to ask. “What’s the worst he did?” he asked softly.

“You don’t need to know that,” Ray said unsteadily. The look he gave Philip didn’t give him much hope.

“Listen.” Philip shifted on the bed, feeling not-quite-right. The air between him and Ray was thick with something unidentifiable. “D’you want to stay around for a while?”

A pause came, rife with apprehension. “In this dump?” Ray asked. One eyebrow was quirked up questioningly.

“Yeah, man. We could watch TV.” Philip shrugged. Then he bit the inside of his mouth, and gave Ray a searching glance. “We could talk about shit.”

Ray’s jaw tightened.

“Or not,” Philip added immediately.

“‘Or not’, huh?” Ray echoed. He folded his arms, and gave Philip something akin to a smile. “I like the sound of that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of the first chapter? Hope you liked it.
> 
> Much of this fic is already written, so I’ll probably post chapter 2 this week!


	2. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray’s birthday is coming up. Philip wants to get him something, but he’s a little useless at gift giving.

Philip stared intently at the research board in front of him. It was crammed with overlapping text and images, leaving it so busy that it might as well have been the next Historian update. His eyes skimmed over the largest lines of text.

‘RAY BIRTHDAY’

‘WHAT PRESENT TO GET?’

‘HOW TO CELEBRATE BIRTHDAY?’

‘ARGH’

Birthdays weren’t celebrated in the 25th century, for a number of reasons. There were too many people in each shelter; too many overshadowing concerns; nothing to give as gifts; and no individuality truly allowed among citizens, anyway. So Philip had felt quite the spark of excitement when Ray mentioned his upcoming birthday, in passing in conversation. He was eager to to experience a real birthday, even by proxy.

Philip’s largest concern was what to give Ray as a gift. The budget was unlimited, but Philip had very little knowledge of the culture of gift-giving. His social skills in this area were entirely absent, as it was irrelevant to the missions he’d been on, and he had never given nor received a gift. How was he to know what was appropriate? He knew that it had to be personal, and fitting, and useful. And considering that this was his biggest project in weeks, he wanted to  _ commit _ to it, and make it brilliant. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what would possibly meet that criteria. He had seen Ray eating an orange before. Maybe that would work. Oranges were full of nutrients, so they would certainly be useful. But were they personal enough? Probably not.

Eventually, Philip grew sick of staring at the research board, and of asking Poppy’s advice only to receive no response (as she was, after all, a turtle). He shoved a few twenties into his pocket and wandered out onto the street. Without his own car, there was only so far he could go, so he stopped off at the nearest 7/11.

As it turned out, Philip had underestimated how useless he was by himself. He spent close to half an hour browsing the shelves, but he found exactly nothing that felt right. Soon, he‘d been milling around for so long that the store attendant had begun glancing at him in concern. Irritated, Philip stared back. The attendant startled, looking caught out, then shuffled up to Philip almost guiltily. “You need any help, sir?” the teen asked.

Accustomed to avoiding human contact whenever possible, ”No,” left Philip’s mouth before he could stop it. Then he blinked a couple times, and corrected himself. “I mean, yes.”

The store attendant nodded. “How can I help you meet your shopping needs today?” he asked. His bored expression and tone belied his enthusiastic words.

“I need to buy a gift for someone’s birthday.”

The attendant perked up a little. “Ah, a special someone?”

Was Ray a special someone? He was sort of special, Philip supposed. At the very least, he was pretty damn different to most other people in this century. “Yeah,” Philip said.

For reasons Philip didn’t really understand, the attendant winked at him. “I’ve got just the thing.” The young man led Philip down to a shelf near the back of the store. It was stocked with chocolates, heart-shaped items, and novelty plush toys. “Leftover stuff from Valentine’s Day. It’s half price.”

Philip peered at each potential gift and pictured giving it to Ray. The teddy bear would not work: Ray would probably rip its head off and look for cash inside. Maybe the chocolate box would be appropriate? Philip didn’t imagine Ray would be thrilled about the roses and hearts printed on the box about, but as far as Philip remembered of 21st century imagery and symbols, hearts represented affection. That would certainly be fitting. But it wasn’t quite personalised enough.

A ringing sound came from behind Philip. The attendant pulled his phone from his pocket, then looked up at Philip hastily. “Listen, I’ll leave you to browse,” he said, before heading to the back room with his phone to his ear.

Philip decided that he didn’t want to give any of these things to Ray. He bought the heart-shaped chocolate box for himself (and partially for Poppy, figuring that she might enjoy playing with the cardboard), then he trudged out of the store, unsatisfied.

Shopping in real life had been fruitless. Maybe Philip would try the internet next.

Back at Ops, Philip spent several hours scrolling through shopping websites and googling historical information about the exchange of gifts. He didn’t find much, but he did manage to eat the entire heart-shaped box of chocolates by himself. In the end, all he had gathered was that the most important factor of A Good Present was that it was personal. So he shut his eyes, and began skimming through each and every one of his memories of Ray until he found something of use.

—

Philip ordered the vintage collectible train that afternoon. It cost a pretty penny, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that Phillip knew Ray would like it.

A month or two ago, during idle conversation, Ray had mentioned the exact type of collectible train that his brother had owned when they were children. He said he had loved that train as a boy. It was only such a shame that his father had pawned it when they ran into money troubles, and now he would never see one again. Well, Philip would fix that.

The package arrived a day later. Shortly, Philip headed out to the 7/11 to get something to wrap the gift with. All they had available was brown paper, but he supposed that Ray might appreciate that better than flashy, colourful printed paper.

It turned out that wrapping the gift was almost more difficult than acquiring it. Covered in sticky tape and surrounded by pieces of crumpled brown paper, Philip wondered if there was supposed to be some kind of technique to this. His wrapping skills were shoddy at best. By the time he had finished, the gift looked worse than before—but at least it was wrapped. Now all that was left was to wait for Ray’s birthday.

—

When the day finally came around, Philip was relieved. This had essentially been the only thing running through his mind all week. He called Ray up, wished him a happy birthday, and awkwardly asked if he could drop by.

“Sure, I guess,” Ray said on the phone. “I’m seeing my sister in a couple hours, though.”

“That’s fine,” Philip replied. “I won’t be long.”

Most of the next hour was spent finding an Uber driver willing to travel to the scummy part of town that Ops was located in. Philip succeeded eventually. In the car, he drummed his fingers on his knees, and daydreamed about how Ray might react to his present.

When Philip knocked on Ray’s front door, a few moments went by until there was a response. Ray answered the door with a slightly unhappy expression on his face. He was wearing an outfit not much different to usual—a semi-casual shirt, with jeans instead of slacks—and he appeared somewhat ruffled. “Phil,” he said with a nod. He did not look very celebratory.

“Happy birthday, man,” Philip said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Ray stepped aside to let Philip inside, and closed the door behind them. He led Philip to the living room, where he sat down on the couch, and motioned for Philip to sit down too.

Tentatively, Philip sat on the armchair facing Ray. “Are you okay?” Philip asked.

Ray shrugged, and made a dismissive gesture. “My sister cancelled.”

“Oh, no.” Philip wanted to offer comfort, but he wasn’t sure how tender he was allowed to be, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Haven’t seen each other in a year. I guess I should have expected it.”

A year? That was a little grim. Philip had read that close relatives were supposed to meet up regularly to maintain a good familial bond. Sympathetically, he inclined his head to the side. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

The expression on Ray’s face somehow now looked worse. “No, she specifically told me that she didn’t.”

“Oh,” Philip said uselessly. His heart took a hit at the thought of Ray being dismissed on his birthday, but he didn’t want to overstep his bounds by giving an overly emotional response.

Ray crossed his legs. “Never fuckin’ mind.” He caught sight of the parcel in Philip’s hands, and nodded at it. “What’s that?”

A little light returned to Philip’s expression, and he gave a tiny smile. “It’s for you,” he said. He extended the package, and his eyes flickered back up to Ray. “Birthday present.”

Cautiously, Ray took the gift. “Well, thanks,” he said. He glanced down at the parcel, turned it over in his hands, then looked back at Philip skeptically. “Not to be rude, but have you ever wrapped a gift before?”

“No,” Philip replied.

Clearly unsure what to say, Ray looked down at the gift again. “Okay.” He began tearing the paper, peeling at the excessive amount of sticky tape, then tossing the trash onto the floor. When he had unwrapped the present, he was left staring at the box in his hands. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath. “Phil, are you serious? How did you know?”

Philip shrugged, playing nonchalant, although he felt alight. “You mentioned it a few months back. It’s the same type your brother—“

“Yeah, I remember,” Ray laughed. “How did you get this?”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

Incredulous, Ray raised his eyebrows at Philip. “I know how much these things cost.”

Philip shook his head and scoffed softly. “I got a great deal. Anyway, don’t think about that. Just have a good birthday, man.” His chest felt warm as he watched Ray. Somehow, it was like the warmth inside him was radiating out into the air, connecting the two of them.

Ray quirked a little smile. “I mean, it’s better now.”


End file.
